


Absolution

by missema



Series: Sacraments [1]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: American Politics, Betrayal, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gang Violence, Politics, Saints Row 2 - Freeform, Saints Row IV, Saints Row The Third
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:22:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some moments that can't be washed away, no matter what. They change the way a person is defined right down to their core and alters the path of their life.</p><p>Cecily "Cecee" Grayse, is the Boss of the 3rd Street Saints and President of the United States.  She woke up from a coma to find her best friend on trial and her neighborhood gone.  What changed her more than all she did as a Saint or a politician was losing Johnny Gat, and then getting him back.</p><p>Scenes from Saints Row 2, The Third and IV.  Mostly sequential.  Slow updates likely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She never had to ask him what he loved - it was obvious. Johnny Gat loved being a gangster, sunglasses and Aisha. The rest of his likes and dislikes were just incidental, as capricious as his lilting smile and charming demeanor. It was rare to know someone so well, but to have asked them so little about themselves. The President sat at her desk, but turned away from it, her leather chair facing towards the window she was absently gazing out of towards the view of the carefully maintained White House lawn. Cecily was President of the United States, newly inaugurated. She would have been nothing without Johnny Gat.

It was cold outside, but the wind had lost its bite. In Washington DC it was still too early for cherry blossoms but the thaw had begun in earnest and fresh pollen had already begun its assault on those prone to allergies. If she had to walk further than then residence, she would have worn boots with her suit today. Her sedate grey pantsuit was paired with a purple shirt, to honor her roots. Cecily never let them forget, because she wouldn't. Not that anyone ever really would - her opposition loved to bring up her "unsavory roots" at any opportunity. More than once on the campaign trail she'd wished that Johnny had been there to shut the naysayers up with a cutting look and a well-placed bullet. Politics wasn't unlike gang wars, but they were more deadly. Johnny would have been a natural.

Still, she was here despite their best efforts and was determined to make a difference. Her crew had come with her - thank fucking goodness. The hardcore politicos loved doubletalk so much it made her trigger finger itchy, but the crew made it tolerable. And it was nice to know that there were some people she could actually trust, even when they were all still finding their footing here.

Despite the warm breeze had had chased away the cold and set the trees on their premature ripening, snow began to fall. Tiny flakes that melted as soon as they fluttered to the ground danced outside her window, in front of Cecily's oblivious face. As proud as she was of being President, she couldn't shake the hollowness inside of her, and was prone to fits of quiet contemplation where she let her memories consume her. Promising though her future was, she would give it all up just to be able to redo one day, one robbery that had changed her life. 

They'd been arguing beforehand, she and Johnny. He thought she was putting him off, and maybe she had been. They'd been at odds for a while on the direction of the Saints, though he'd taken the money readily enough. Less than twenty-four hours later, he was gone from her life forever. There was nothing she wouldn't give to finish their argument, even four and a half years later.

"Madame President, the President of France is on the phone for you. He wants to express his congratulations.". Cecily swiveled the chair around at the voice of one of her new assistants and nodded, picking up the receiver to her phone. Time to break out her high school level French. The assistant backed out of the room through a door that looked like a fucking wall with a knob. This place took some getting used to.

Her thoughts of Johnny Gat fluttered away like one of the snowflakes outside, the ones that were now sticking and clumping to the bushes, promising to fuck up rush hour traffic on the beltway. She swallowed hard as the rapid torrent of French accented English washed over her in a wave of pleasantries.

 

#####

A scuffle behind the door to the judge's chamber ended his back and forth with the judge, and Johnny wasn't sure what it was. Anyone that could save him would have done it a long time ago, or wasn't able to. Still, it was a welcome distraction from the bitch that wanted to execute him.

The wooden door was pushed off its hinges and landed atop a guard, but it was around a corner so Johnny couldn't see much more than that for a moment. When he could see, he barely believed it, his mouth flopped open like a fish out of water before he could control it. He clapped it shut so he wouldn't seem like a swooning damsel in distress that just got the first glimpse at the hero, even if that was exactly what this was. His rescue had arrived and not a fucking second too soon.

A security guard shot the judge as he dropped his gun and the courtroom was subdued by just the sight of her there, turning their own gun against them. She turned and tossed him the keys to the cuffs and he rubbed his wrists while he took a look at her. The hair was longer and free of the cornrows he'd always seen her in before, but there was no mistaking his friend and fellow Saint - they were the only two Saints left in his mind. Fucking Troy Bradshaw, that asshole deserved every bullet that was coming his way.

Years ago he'd met her, and had almost disregarded the girl. She hadn't been as tough as Lin or as dangerous as some of the others at first, but she was smart and loyal and quick to pick up their way of doing business. Time brought the other traits quick enough as she proved herself over and over again to the 3rd Street Saints. His gang - their family - had brought her up and then turned on her, leaving her in a coma.

Five years had changed much for Stilwater, but apparently time hadn't eroded her loyalty. That was a good thing, because Gat didn't honestly see himself winning this appeal or busting himself out. Cecily Grayse (he found out her real name when she'd been in that explosion and had been waiting five years to tease her about it) walked over and handed him a gun, and his life back. In return she got his grin - damn, it felt good to be a Saint again.

"Sorry I'm late." She quipped, her voice more brash than he remembered it. Then again, she didn't really talk much before, so her saying anything would have been different than his memories.

"Fuck it, you're just in time. Good to see you still have good aim Cecee." He answered.

"One of us should." She said with a sweet smile that mocked him just a little. "Let's go. Time for you to get home."

He could definitely agree with that. Two years in prison was longer than he ever wanted to spend there. With Cecee back in action, he doubted he would ever go back. It almost felt like he was home already, shooting at her side again. Five fucking years. Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

This is how it went:  
The Saints save Steelport from STAG and Cyrus Temple. Burt Reynolds retires to his pussy ranch after claiming stress from the kidnapping. Cecee is sworn in as acting mayor of Steelport until the elections and the Saints get a crash course in politics. Not six weeks after her tiny term of a few months was over came the incident with Cyrus Temple. They'd been tracking him using the resources of the mayor's office and were finally free to get him. Kinzie was in a near panic with all the work - if greasy red hair could stand on end, hers would have.

All Cecee wanted was to make sure Cyrus and his STAG asshole friends weren't coming back, but apparently the adoration of America wasn't just supposed to be harnessed for free Freckle Bitch's and discounts at stores.

They put her on the campaign trail and sold her as a Real American Hero. Rising from her past in Stilwater to head companies, save monuments and the eventually a country. They polished her up and put her in fancy suits to do a television blitz, everything from a sit down with on a nightly news magazine to baking cookies on the morning show (hers burned but through the magic of editing, she got a good batch).

She almost believed it herself after a while. There came a time when she stopped thinking she was playing a part and began to be the part. Then again, maybe it had always been in her - leadership came easy to Cecee, and spinning the Saints as a 'community action group' made her seem nearly benevolent. Until she remembered how many people she'd shot.

It was trouble to start feeling like this, to start falling to her own lies. She'd seen it before - with Julius, with Maero, fuck even with Ultor, for all that they paid her bills. She needed someone who would tell her the truth, who could be there and remind her of where she came from. Her VP had already been tapped, though not announced. Someone to give her respectability, to add gravitas to counterbalance her relative youth. Keith David, the actor who was the perpetual uncle and sometimes badass.

No, she needed someone that would understand exactly where she came from. Stilwater was its own particular brand of strange, and anyone that could work their way out of there would know how she felt. Not for the first time she missed Johnny. He would be right there with her, drinking and shooting at the bottles, telling her straight up what he thought. Honesty was sorely lacking in her life at the moment.

All of a sudden, she knew who to call. The bright light from her phone made her squint as she scrolled down the contacts list to find the name she wanted. It was late enough that she was in bed, but it didn't matter. Time was relative, at least that's what Kinzie kept telling her when she woke her up at ungodly times.

"King, it's Cecee."

"Playa." He sounded sleepy, but surprised. "Good to hear from you. What's going on?"

"Sorry if I woke you up." She said, suddenly apprehensive about the whole call. King was, well she'd always respected the man, but they weren't close friends. 

"Fuck it, I'm up now." He yawned. "Congrats on securing the nomination. Don't think I called to say that before. It was a surprise to say the least. I didn't know you had politics on your mind."

"I'm starting to feel like the biggest fucking fraud of all time."

King stifled another yawn and asked, "What do you mean?"

"All this bullshit hype, Ben. I'm the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, but I liked it there and never once thought about my past. I did shit to take back my home, to make life a little less fucking terrible for myself so I could have money and nice car, but now they're calling me a community leader and a 'survivor'. It feels wrong, but then again, I can't help but like it sometimes." Cecee paused for a moment, letting all of it sink in before she went on. "You ever felt like that, like they take out all the horrible shit that happened to you and boiled it down to a cutesy name so they could sell it?"

"Hype is all talk until it isn't, playa." Ben told her. "When you start to believe the hype, well then you might just live up to it. Or get your ass put down like a zombie in the apocalypse."

"Thanks for that Ben. Means a lot."

"Don't let them make you feel like you haven't earned everything you've got. Shit, you think you're the first motherfucka that's did some dirt in the past? Please. Politics is all about obscuring the past and lying about the future. Your opponent hasn't lived through half the shit you have, and you never let it break you down. You'd make a good President, if you were polling at all."

Cecee groaned. She didn't want to do this, not ever, but she already had him on the phone.

"I could use some help with that." She mumbled. Over the line she could hear King go still. "If you're available. You have experience that I need, and you know what the fuck I'm about. Other people don't get that."

King was silent on the line. He was going to make her beg for it. "I need you." Cecee said. "C'mon Ben."

"I want to be Vice President."

"Fuck. Sorry, I can't. I've already got Keith David."

"Keith David? The fucking actor? What the fuck does he know about politics?" King sounded incensed, but Cecee knew that he was still listening.

"Chief of Staff? I'd rather it be you than Pierce." She offered.

"I suppose that's going to have to be good enough. Where are you at on Thursday?"

"Some fucking backwater in a fly-over state with a name that I don't remember. I'm wearing spring blue for a speech with a women's voter group. How the hell am I supposed to know every town I speak in, that's what Kinzie's electronic organizer thingy is for."

"Have someone on your staff forward me your itinerary for the week and I'll meet you there." Ben said with practiced patience, as if he were explaining it to an idiot. "Time to get started winning this race."

"Thanks King. I'll see you soon." Cecee said, and hung up the phone.

 

######

"So what the fuck is this Ultor shit?" Cecee asks as she drives Johnny home. 

"Shit they took over everything while your ass was asleep. They've taken the Row and made it too expensive for the people that have always lived there."

"Fuck. Corporate bastards. We'll make them pay for that little mistake." Cecee says, her hands clenching the steering wheel. "But first we need backup. Are there any other Saints?"

"Just you and me." Johnny says. "But there's plenty of talent around if you know where to look."

"Carlos needs to be repaid for his help getting me out." She muses. "He might make a good lieutenant. Got himself shanked to get to the hospital while I was waking up."

"Fuck, Cecee. Can we talk about this shit after I go home? There's plenty of time for business later."

She gives him a sidelong look and then smirks. "Whatever you say." Then she jumps the curb and rides on the sidewalk, speed increasing after she turns down the street that will take both of them home.

######

Later Aisha was laying in bed with Johnny, who was stuck in a permanent good mood ever since his comatose friend had rejoined the living and brought him back home. She rolled over to turn off the light on her nightstand and once they were bathed in darkness, Johnny pulled her closer to him.

"Are things going to be alright now?" She asked. Her question met silence and she started to amend it. "You're back, Cecee's back and so are the Saints, but we never seem to have peace. I just want to know that even without it, we're going to be protected."

"Eesh, I will always protect you. I promise." Johnny kissed the back of her neck and she intertwined her legs with his. "I took care of you before didn't I?"

"I don't need to be taken care of. I just want to know that you've got this under control. If you're going to go back into this life, I need reassurances."

"Back into this life?" Johnny huffed, breathing out hotly onto her neck. "I never left it. Shit, don't start talking like you didn't know that. I don't know what kind of assurances you want - that we know what we're doing? That I ain't going back to jail? All that's true, baby."

"That's not what I mean, Johnny and you know it!"

He sits up in bed and put a hand on her side. "What do you need to hear?"

"Just don't." She pauses and swallows in a breath. "Don't you leave me again. Maybe Cecee can call the shots better than Julius and you won't go away again."

Johnny sinks back down to the bed and puts his arms around her. "I ain't leaving, Eesh. Not again. I promise."

She can hear in his voice that he isn't lying, but it unsettles her all the same. Some thoughts can't be shaken once they worm into consciousness. Aisha worried about Johnny, even as he murmured reassurances into her ear.


	3. Chapter 3

When as far as you go in the political process is to change the channel when ads come on during election season, running for office is a jarring jolt of reality.

As soon as it's even a rumor that a run for office might be in the future - BAM! The fucking cameras show up and some dickhead local talk show host got some intern to send an email about making an appearance to comment on the rumors. There was a seemingly endless stream of people that wanted to do nothing more than chronicle her life and intentions, but when Stilwater could have used some intervention, some attention, fucking anyone to notice it at all, nothing happened. 

Then again, Ultor happened, but that was after she and the Saints happened to try and take back what was once a semi-decent place to live. Well, shit, she wasn't sure if Stilwater had been decent, but once upon a time going to the store hadn't included avoiding a shoot out.

But all the reporters had to be addressed, and Cecee wanted to give them an answer. For whatever else was said about her, she was quick on her feet, and the day after someone called her for a comment, she had a website up courtesy of Kinzie, complete with a sanitized biography and press photos that covered up all of her good ink. She didn't exactly answer the question, not to some no name bastard over the phone, but she knew what she was doing.

They'd come calling eventually, and when they did she'd go to the place that had the best ratings and make sure she came out with a bang. First she had to submit herself to Viola's camera prep coaching and make sure she didn't actually call anyone a fuckwit.

She's been told those things can derail political aspirations.

"Boss, are you ready?" Shaundi came striding up next to where she sat. She hadn't gone on a local show, but a regional one was a different story.

"How do I look?" Cecee asked. Her face had been made up to within an inch of her life, but instead of dark eyeliner shadow combination she favored, they'd given her this fucking pink shit all over her face. There was still color, but they were going for an athletic look to compliment her figure, they'd said. Her cheeks had 'natural' glow brushed onto them, her lips were painted with a pinkish-brown color that was supposed to look professional, her eyes had a light pink shadow on them to make them look wider. At least, that's what she'd been told as it went on her face, after they'd sprayed foundation on to give her a flawless complexion.

It all seemed like a lot to her, but Shaundi sucked in her breath. It must have combined for a startling change for her to do that. Cecee didn't know, she hadn't looked in the mirror when it was over, just thanked the woman that had worked on her. 

"Not bad. These ladies do good work." She said and the makeup artist nearby smiled, but didn't still her hands. They were already at work on the talking head that was supposed to come on two segments after Cecee.

She stood up and took off the utility cape that covered her clothes and checked herself over in the mirror. She looked young - and Cecee had to think for a second to remember how old she actually was. Thirty-four was still young, right? She resisted the urge to pinch the cheeks of her own reflection and stepped back to make sure her suit wasn't wrinkled. The whole package looked like she was going to Sunday School, but ultimately very smart. It would probably look good on camera, but Cecee had no sense of these things and didn't really know one way or the other. She hoped she would look good.

Damn everything, she wasn't sure why, but she wanted this. Cecee had never had much in the way of aspirations before besides "being awesomely badass" but for some reason, she wanted this job. Career politicians and lawyers held sway over the nation, but most of them had never lived in it. She had. 

"Remember, be charming." Shaundi hissed in her ear. A production assistant wearing an earpiece popped out of nowhere to show her where to stand before she went to the stage.

When the music played and her name was announced, Cecee managed to get across the stage without recalling how. She sat down primly in her seat and then crossed her ankles. The overhead lights made it near impossible to see into the wings, but she imagined Shaundi was smiling, or more likely laughing at that little move.

"Welcome, welcome Cecily. It's nice to see you here." The anchorman greeted her with a large, false grin.

"It's nice of you to have me." Cecee said, lying through her teeth.

"Let's get right to it. There are some interesting rumors going around about you and the Presidency. What do you have to say about them?" He asked.

Cecee breathed out through her nose, put an answering fake grin on her face and began to talk. It was only the start.

 

#####

Shaundi was a good recruit. A little strange with the stoner/computer hacker thing she had going on, but Cecee wasn't going to let an asset like that get away. Pierce was good too, loyal and stupidly brave, even if he didn't shut up singing in the car. Johnny had a great eye for talent, and not for the first time Cecee wondered how their gang had faltered into nonexistence while she'd been away.

Carlos - he was something special. Despite her abruptness with him when they were leaving the prison, Cecee liked Carlos a lot. He was just a little more steady than the rest of her crew. For whatever reason she was calmer when he was around, he had that kind of presence, like he was an old friend she'd forgotten she had before and they'd just met back up. She liked him, though he was a little squeamish for a lieutenant.

It wasn't a romantic feeling, Cecee rarely felt those stirrings, but they say that's something that can happen after your first and only boyfriend stands in front of you and bullet rips through his chest. It happens when a person who you love so much that it makes it hard to breathe just to say his name takes a bullet that was just some horseshit asshole goofing off, but that would have hit you had he not been there.

So romance isn't Cecee's thing, but Carlos is someone special. If she wasn't trying to recover her life after five lost years and get past pretty much everything that happened to her, then she might consider it - the two of them together. Maybe. Once they were done taking out the assholes that thought they could come up and run her town while she was absent. 

She might never have what Johnny and Aisha have, but one day she might be able to let someone hug her without wanting to scream. Some form of relationship would be preferable than nothing at all.

Sex was something entirely different. She could and did have sex. Or at least she did on the regular before she went to a damn party on a boat. Fucking boats, man. At least she didn't have a fear of water, but that's probably the upside of being knocked out by the blast.

Man, she spent too much time thinking about the past these days. All she had was the past, and Cecee tried to use it to make sense of the time she was in. It sucked waking up in the future and seeing everything different, but not like jet-packs and sexbots different. Johnny was different. Don't get it twisted, he was still the thug she'd come to be friends with back in the day, but now he was like married to Aisha. Aisha was good for him, a civilizing influence. 

These faces around her were all different. No Lin, no Julius, nobody from the old days except her and Johnny. She liked them, but sometimes out of the corner of her eye she could swear that Lin was there. She missed Lin, but then again, she could do without Troy. At least she didn't have to deal with his pasty ass anymore. He always stank like he'd been diving in the dumpster outside Freckle Bitches and old cigarettes. She'd never liked Troy all that much when they were Saints together, but she knew he'd been the one keeping her on life support while she was in prison. Her feelings about him now, like so much of her life, fluctuated with the day.

"Hey Boss, you want a hit off the light bulb?" A sombrero that sounds like Shaundi is holding up a broken bulb full of Loa Dust to her and Cecee sighs.

But she takes it anyway and hopes that it chases her thoughts away.


	4. Chapter 4

It doesn't take long for the first attack ad to run. It's a very obvious attack on her, calling her all the usual names, putting up her prison picture. Her face was very obviously still healing from her bruises and whatever cosmetic work that was done to restore her features, but it was undoubtedly her. Cecee had never seen the picture before, hadn't given it any real thought. Another thing she'd had to thank Troy Bradshaw for, but that shit was all in the past now. As far she knew he was back in Stilwater, smoking cigarettes like it was going out of style.

"Hey I look good for sleeping." Cecee pointed out. Even Pierce wasn't impressed with her assessment. All around her people started talking as if she weren't there, throwing out strategies, names of opponents, things to say to counter the damage.

It was full scale panic mode, with Kinzie at the center of it, conferring with Ben King and a group of Saints turned into her aides. Her crib turned into campaign central overnight, the smell of mixed drinks replaced by coffee that always seemed to be brewing. The place was always a hive of activity, but not like in the old days. Most nights she could barely get any sleep.

"Guys, you have to get the fuck out of here." Cecee said, yawning as she put down a glass of water. She'd been forbidden to drink by Shaundi, who said that it would make her look bloated on camera. She'd had her own reality show, so Cecee took her word for it. The heads that turned towards her when she spoke now looked away, going back to their conversations as if she'd said nothing at all.

" **EVERYONE! GET THE FUCK OUT!** " Cecee said, loud enough that all talk ground into silence. "I need to sleep and I can't do that with a hundred meetings going on and this place in panic mode."

"What the boss needs is a campaign headquarters that isn't her apartment." Pierce said, stepping up. "And I've already got a place in mind. Kinzie, get your shit ready to be moved. Shaundi, let's get everyone out of here so we can get back to work and the Boss can rest." He said. For once, she didn't argue with him.

Whatever they needed to grab was taken downstairs to the garage, and Cecee went up to her bed. She heard groups of people leaving from all directions, even taking the freight elevator downstairs. Her shoulders sagged. It was tough to hear herself being called trash on television, knowing that the nation wouldn't see her as anything more than a power hungry sociopath as Julius had once called her.

Johnny would understand. He wouldn't have given a fuck if an ad ran against him, but it broke her a little further when she realized that they probably would. Someone would have the bright idea to find a picture of her and Johnny, of which there were plenty, and add his list of crimes to her own. He wouldn't even have the chance to defend himself.

Campaigning was dirtier than any street fight she'd ever been in. Cecee settled down against her mattress with her clothes still on, toeing off her boots one at a time. One caught on her foot, and all her shaking did nothing to dislodge it. Heaving a sigh, Cecee was about to roll over to sit up and take the boot off when a hand closed around her ankle and heaved the boot off.

Cecee snapped to full alertness, a hand already on her 45. Her boot was off, and she was pointing her gun at a Saint she knew by face but not name. He as handsome and young, dark haired and wearing a purple tie with his dress shirt. He could either be going clubbing or running her campaign, not that the two were mutually exclusive. Cecee lowered the gun when he held up his hands and said "Sorry to startle you, Boss."

"It's alright. You need something?" She asked.

He smiled at her. "Viola wanted me to check on you. Assist you with anything you need." He said.

Cecee considered it. A gift from Viola usually was of a specific kind, and it meant she might actually get some decent sleep. "What's your name?" She asked, her voice softer.

"Ryan."

"Come keep me company, Ryan." She said, and as soon as she said it, he was standing in front of her titling her face up so he could kiss it.

He was a very good kisser, and after a good, long while, they both slept well. Before she let exhaustion overtake her, Cecee laid her head on his chest and hoped that the campaign was under control in their new headquarters.

#####

They were going straight for The Brotherhood. There was no way Maero could be allowed to stay running shit after his insulting 20/80 split proposal. Cecee already hated that asshole, and she wanted blood. His blood, all of it, preferably spilled out on a street corner while she stood victorious over his twitching body.

But she and the Saints would get to that. Carlos was digging up leads on them right now, and if she could take down the Carnales, who were as foolish and bloodthirsty of a gang as she'd ever known, she could take down Maero's little tattooed group. Something within her sang at the thought of trampling all over the gangs in this town, people that wouldn't have even dared to rise up had Julius not left a vacuum of power.

Fucking Julius. She would shoot him one day - that fact was already written in stone. There were things to take care of first, footholds to regain. Cecee hoped that Julius had enjoyed his five years of retirement, because as sure as the sun rose in the mornings, she wasn't going to let him get more than that.

"Hey Boss, you busy?" Cecee turned to see who was interrupting her thoughts, and looked over to see Pierce.

"What's up, Pierce?"

"Got some information you might be interested in." He told her. He was looking twitchy, but that wasn't really all that different from how he normally looked. She liked Pierce, but he needed some polish. So had she when she'd started out though, so she cut him some slack.

"We need to be away from the others when you hear what I got to say." He told her, and Cecee inclined her head towards a doorway. She let him lead the way.

When Pierce was finished talking, she knew why he wanted to tell her, and her only. The information, well, it was her job as the boss to sort out what to do with it. She sighed, and not for the first time since she'd woken up, wished things were easier. Not with their rivals, no, that shit was better this way than any other. Let them think her weak or insignificant. It would be their downfall. No, she wished life was easier to navigate, decisions and their repercussions more clear at the outset. That was a fools dream however, and she was no fool.

She was a woman who had a mission.

#####

"Aisha, you up for some shopping?" Cecee hadn't come around to the house much since they'd begun working, but she did drop by when she could. She liked Aisha, and as much fun as it was to see Johnny shooting things up, it was good to see him outside of it.

"Sure, Boss." Aisha answered. She called Cecee "Boss" even though she wasn't a Saint. She'd been around back in the beginning, so it almost felt like she was one, even if she didn't use a gun. Well, she could, half the dates Johnny took her on was to the shooting range, but she didn't do it for the Saints. It didn't matter. She was like family to Cecee, and not just because she loved Johnny.

"You thinking of anything in particular?" Aisha asked.

Cecee shrugged. Fashion was not her area of expertise. "I need to make an impression. A good one. On a man." She said.

"Then let's skip On the Rag and head to someplace nicer." Aisha said with a smile.

They wound up at Branded, not the most expensive store in Stilwater, but close to it. Cecee had trouble in places like this, she never grew up with money or that certain self-entitled smugness that came with it, but she tried not to let it show. Aisha knew her way around the place, and after a round of air kisses with the staff, she had clothes brought to them while they sipped champagne next to a dressing room.

"You come here often?" Cecee asked, eyebrow raised.

"Too often." Aisha replied. "But then again, if I didn't I wouldn't have anything good to send my baby sister."

"How is she?" Cecee remembered the younger girl, who had once been picked up by the Vice Kings to be part of Tanya's stable. They'd broken in and rescued her and a few other girls, but Cecee hadn't seen or heard from her since.

"She's fine." Aisha said, then caught herself. She smiled at Cecee. "I forget how long you've been away. She moved out of here about three years ago, and got her certification as a medical assistant."

"That's good for her." Cecee said. "Why didn't you ever leave Stilwater?"

A shop assistant came by with a blue floral dress that reminded Cecee of something a 50's housewife would wear. She hated it. Shaking her head vigorously at it, the assistant turned on her heel and took it away. "Bring something shorter, I think." Aisha called after the girl, giving Cecee's legs a once over. "Definitely shorter."

Once they were alone again, she resumed their conversation. "I never wanted to leave Johnny. He's unhappy anyplace else. Plus, I have a good thing, my house, my life, and the ability to make music on my own terms."

"You still sing?"

"There's an amazing back catalog of my unreleased songs. Also writing songs for other people keeps me from getting too bored, and the royalty checks are good too." She hummed the rafrain of a popular song and looked over at Cecee.

"Yours?" Cecee asked, impressed.

"Yup. You wouldn't believe the money it's made."

"Yes I would, it's all over the fucking radio." Cecee laughed.

Another dress was brought over to them, this time in a deep amethyst color. The assistant brandished it with a satisfied smile, knowing that at least the color would please the Boss of the Saints. Cecee stood up to get a better look at it, but Aisha was there before her.

"Oooh, this is nice. Feel the fabric, it's slinky for jersey. It's got a halter neckline, and the waist nips in and adds motion to the skirt. This should look really nice on you. Try it on."

"I have no idea what all that shit meant, but alright." Cecee said. She disappeared into the fitting room and took off her clothes. Aisha talked to her over the door.

"You never said what this was for. Going on a date?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be starting out in this dress." Cecee answered. "Not a date. It's more important than an errand to get some ass." She said, her words muffled as she pulled off her shirt.

"An errand to get some ass?"

"How many dates did it take before you and Johnny began fucking?" Cecee countered.

Aisha laughed, but didn't answer. She did gasp when Cecee came out of the fitting room. She wasn't transformed or anything, but Aisha had never seen her look so nice. Cecee kept trying to pull the back of the damn dress down, because it felt like it was riding up too high. Other than that, it was pretty comfortable.

"I take it this works?" Cecee asked.

"Definitely. I feel sorry for whoever it is you aren't screwing in that dress." Aisha said.

"Don't be. He doesn't deserve it." Cecee answered.

They bought the dress, shoes and a hat to go with it. Cecee rather liked the hat, it made her feel like she was in one of the old gangster movies, where all the people were glamorous and no one was a giant tattooed asshole like Maero. They had tommy guns and class, not skeezy girlfriends and an angry growl.

"Thanks for coming with me." Cecee said, turning to Aisha as they walked to the car.

"It was fun. We should do it again." She answered.

"We will." Cecee said. "Just next time, for guns or something I can understand." Aisha laughed again, as she unlocked the car.


	5. Chapter 5

Three nights after Pierce had come to her, Cecee was wearing her new dress. To be precise, she was wearing a dress with her hair freshly done and nail polish on while waiting in her car as a jumped up security guard lorded his small bit of authority over her. After a brief phone conference in which she waited with her car idling outside of a shitty little booth, she was let into the gated complex and given a map to find her way.

She was going to visit Troy. They were overdue for a talk.

Since she'd gotten his address, she thought long and hard about seeing him again. This was no happy little reunion of Saints past. Part of her wanted to give the address to Johnny and let him do what he did best. But then again, she was grateful to what he'd done for her and Johnny both when they were in prison. Shit, why'd it have to be so complicated? 

Maybe there was a score to settle between them, or it could have just been that they needed to talk. Either way, she couldn't go to the station to see him, not for a conversation. Troy may not have wanted to put her in prison, but there were plenty of other cops willing to do the job for him. She wanted a civilized set of answers before she did anything, and Troy and Gat were the only people around from the old crew. Gat had already told her as much as he could.

Cecee pulled in to the parking lot and followed the directions given to her by the guard and her tiny square of map. She didn't even have to ring for admittance - he was waiting outside for her. Time had gotten the better of Troy, she could see it as she pulled up. He'd been relatively fit and quick when he used to scuffle with Dex back in the day, but a desk job and too many of his favorite cigarettes had slowed him down, made him dour.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Troy called by way of greeting.

She waved at him. "I didn't give my real name to your guard so I could come up in here and kill you."

He shrugged, but he didn't drop his defensive stance. She was sure at least one gun was within easy reach, even out of uniform as he was. Damn, there was nothing about him that didn't raise her defenses. The cop was always part of the whole package that was Troy. "Come on, then. Let's not give my neighbors a chance to say they saw me out here making a deal with you." 

He led her to the elevator, but they didn't speak as it ferried them upward. She caught Troy sneaking glances at her, but she didn't turn to face him. He, like all of her old crew, was probably still in disbelief that she wasn't dead after all that time in a coma. She said nothing as he motioned her out and opened the a locked door while never once turning his back on her. His apartment was a little shoebox of a place situated on the top floor. At least it had that in its favor, because there was little else to recommend it. The decor, if it could be called that, was mostly of the beige and navy variety. There were awards, commendations and photos on the shelves, but they didn't look like Troy had put them there. Dust collected on the frames of the photos and on the shelves where they sat. The only part of the house that looked truly lived in was an old whiskey colored leather armchair near the window, complete with ottoman. There was a small table next to it with a glass ashtray that sorely needed to be cleaned.

"Like what you've done with the place." Cecee said, gesturing around.

"Like what you've done with your face." He replied, smirking at her. "Did you change your hair?"

When she didn't answer, he gestured for her to sit down on the couch across from the armchair. "Drink?" Troy asked, and held up a bottle cognac. She nodded and he took a glass from inside a cabinet, then splashed some liquor inside of it before handing it to her.

"Why don't you start by telling me what the fuck happened on the boat?" Troy asked, settling into his chair. The well worn ass groove accepted his familiar form immediately but he remained tense.

"You never did like me much." She said idly, not answering his question. 

Troy eyed her. "I like you fine. You never seemed to like me, but I thought we had a mutual respect thing going on." She noticed that he used the present tense when he said he liked her. She hoped that was a sign this wouldn't end with her shooting her way out.

"They say respect is better anyway." Cecee said, more to herself than to him. "Look, I don't really know what happened on the boat. It was a long time ago. I don't remember the details."

"Try." Troy directed.

She sucked in a harsh breath, but decided to talk. It would gain her nothing to not cooperate with him, and she was on his territory. "Alright. I was called and told to meet Hughes on his boat, for a chat." She said, remembering. Cecee squinted her eyes, as if trying to clear the scene in front of her. "The streets were backed up because of the event later that night, and I thought Hughes would keep it short because of that. I wanted to go to Freckle Bitch's after we were done making our deal." She shrugged before recounting the rest, as if it were obvious. "I got on the boat, got confronted by Hughes who thought he could kill me with some hired muscle, but before they could make a move, the boat blew. I thought it was Hughes for a second, but he was on fire too. Wasn't him." 

Troy nodded at her. "They thought you did it."

"Why the fuck would I blow myself up?" She asked, her hackles rising.

"Throw off suspicion for the murder of Mayor-elect Hughes." He said casually, taking a sip of his drink. "Wouldn't be the first time that's happened."

"That's bullshit and you know it. So let me ask you something, Chief." She said, watching him grimace as she used his title. "Why protect us?"

"I didn't like arresting my friends." Troy was defensive, but it was a practiced sort of anger, as if he'd gotten used to the question.

"I knew you were a cop."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You never fucked the hookers." She said, making Troy laugh.

"Maybe I'm not into women." He countered and Cecee snorted.

"Nice try, Troy. It would be more believable when you aren't sneaking glances at my tits like you wanna invite them to the school dance."

Troy laughed again, louder this time. "It's a nice dress. You look..." he stopped for a moment, appraising her and then took a drink, "good." He finished. The word was loaded, and Cecee looked back at him, roving eyes assessing him the same way he'd just done her.

He wasn't the way she remembered him, but years had passed and changed them both. They were playing on the knife's edge, the two of them. There was never a truly neutral space, she knew that, but the way he looked at her made her wonder. There were more things she wanted to say, but they fled her mind. All she could think of was getting out of there, now that she'd established that they didn't have to be enemies, not exactly. He was offering her something, but she couldn't think clearly enough to know what it was. Cecee cocked her head to the side. "You should grow a beard, or at least bring the goatee back." She finally said.

"The department encourages the clean-shaven look. Something to do with beards and concealment and the appearance of honesty." He muttered.

She took another sip of her drink, then set it on the table and stood up. The glass was still half-full, and it caught the dim light from the kitchen. Troy stiffened in his chair as she moved towards him, but didn't stop her. 

"Your weak chin shouldn't give a shit about the appearance of anything other than your face." She said, touching the chin in question. It was warm and stubbly under her fingertips and Troy turned towards her, almost letting her cup his face in her hand. She made one pass before Troy grabbed her wrist and she broke contact, closing her hand into a loose fist.

"There's some audio at the station you might want to hear." He began, and Cecee started. His hand gripped her more firmly, even as she tried to pull away. "I'm not offering you a ride down there." He said, talking over her. "Just go when I'm not there. Might fill in some gaps in your memory. When you're ready." 

He let go of her wrist, and Cecee lowered her hand. She left without saying goodbye.

#####

Kinzie was sitting across from Cecee on the couch, frowning at her. Shaundi was pacing back and forth talking to herself. They were supposed to be working on yet another statement, one that was honest enough without giving up too much information. Half-truths seemed to be her main way of communicating these days. Cecee was more than a little bored.

"Can't I just say, I was absolved of any wrongdoing in the murder of Alderman Richard Hughes and leave it at that?" Cecee asked, exasperated.

"Were you?" Shaundi asked, speaking up from the other side of the room where she'd migrated.

"That case was Troy Bradshaw's pet project. He's got the evidence that shows what happened."

"Wrong." Kinzie interrupted. "He's got a case file that shows no real conclusions, though he speculates that you were an innocent victim of the boat bombing."

Cecee raised an eyebrow at Kinzie. "Hacked into the police records, did we?"

"That's apparently all she does." Shaundi said, coming back towards them and sinking down next to Cecee on the purple velvet couch. "Who gives a shit as long as we have an advantage?"

Kinzie brightened at Shaundi's defense, but Shaundi didn't acknowledge it. "Alright then, what's the problem?" Cecee asked Shaundi, because she knew that there had to be problem to follow any good conclusions they could make.

"You're going to be asked about it, cause they just love digging up Stilwater shit to try and throw you off. We need a real answer, or at least one that isn't an outright lie and you thinking up something to say with a camera in your face. Is Troy Bradshaw going to back you up on this one?" Shaundi asked. Both Shaundi and Kinzie eyed her, watching her as she carefully thought of her answer.

"Yes, I think he will." Cecee finally answered. "He will." She said more definitively. She was almost sure of it.


End file.
